


matins

by parrishes



Series: the hours [6]
Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:05:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5827909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parrishes/pseuds/parrishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trying to slip out of a sleeping Ethan's grip is tricky, but Vanessa needs a late-night snack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	matins

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little drabble I wrote as part of a request meme on Tumblr. I hope you like it! Also, many thanks to The Princess Bride for the "as you wish" line.

Disentangling herself from Ethan’s firm grip is a struggle. His arm is wound tight around her waist, and she’s not quite sure how to maneuver out of bed for a late-night snack without waking him - if the rumbling in her stomach doesn’t do it first.

Legs first, arms second - that’s what she decides on as she slips them over the edge of the bed. Vanessa imagines that she looks quite comical, slithering off the side of the bed like a snake, but Ethan is a light sleeper (especially when she’s sleeping beside him) and he looks so peaceful that she doesn’t want to disturb him. Eventually managing to slide out from under his arm, she holds her breath for a second or two as he shifts in his sleep, exhaling silently when he settles back down.

Eyes still adjusting to the dim light, Vanessa scouts the room, looking for something to cover herself with. As most of their clothes lie strewn in random spots across the floor and she has no desire to get dressed anyway, she finds Ethan’s woolen henley at the foot of the mattress and slides it over her head, before wincing as she goes down the back stairs to the kitchen.

Flicking on the gaslights, Vanessa now realizes that she has to figure out what to make. Deciding on a nice, warm slice of toast, she grabs two slices of bread, digs around in a drawer or several for the toasting forks, and turns on the stove. The house is remarkably quiet, incredibly still, and the solemnity of it distracts her so much that she doesn’t notice Ethan, ducking the lintel as he makes his way into the room.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks her, the sound of his yawn thick.

“I was hungry,” Vanessa answers him, turning the two slices of toast over to their un-browned sides, watching the recently-installed gas flicker under the burner.

“Well, at least you’re working up an appetite,” Ethan says, and she doesn’t need to be looking at him to discern the smirk in his voice.

“You usually don’t stay asleep long if I get up, so I figured you might come down. Would you like a slice of toast?” She hears water running behind her, the hollow sound of the old kettle rapidly becoming faint.

“Since you’re already making it, sure,” Ethan says, suddenly stretching over her to turn on another burner, setting the now-full tea kettle on top of it. As he moves, she notices the frayed edge of the old blanket he’d brought with him from New Mexico, wrapped around his bare shoulders.

“Why do you need the blanket?” she questions, setting one toasting fork down to cool, then wrapping her hand in the extra length of sleeve in order to jimmy the bread off the other - without breaking it. It is a much more difficult task than one would think.

“I need the blanket because _somebody_ ,” he murmurs, moving to press himself flush against her back, “took my shirt when she didn’t want to get dressed.”

Vanessa leans back against him, a pleasant hum moving through her. “You’re welcome to take it back, you know,” she responds, eyes half-closed.

“Later,” he says, fingers brushing her thighs as he plays with the hem of her - well, _his_ \- shirt, and the low timbre of his voice is a promise all its own. “Keep it on - for now, anyway. It looks good on you.”

“Thank you for noticing,” she coquettes, as she raises the toasting fork to eye level. “Now hush. This requires precision.”

“Do you think I’ve never made toast before? I know how to get dry bread off a fork.”

“Then assist me,” she tells him, sliding the toast off the prongs centimeter by centimeter.

“As you wish,” he replies, and soon the slices rest on their own plates, forks left to be cleaned in the morning. Vanessa grabs the whistling kettle while Ethan finds knives, butter, and blackberry jam. Two steaming cups of chamomile tea and two pieces of toast later, they both wander back upstairs, Vanessa’s thundering hunger finally sated.


End file.
